


champagne and gunshots

by judyjargon



Series: Felannie Arrow AU [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arrow AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e03 Lone Gunmen, Gen, Gun Violence, Mass shooting, let ingrid swear 2k20, no beta we die like Glenn, please please please mind the tags, sorry there's no annette here, this ep was written eight years ago before all the stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judyjargon/pseuds/judyjargon
Summary: Even so, the easiest way to get into Lonato’s auction had been to accompany his father, who stands on the other end of the room talking and drinking champagne. It makes him uneasy to think that his father is interested in Lonato’s estate, given the questionable nature of the deceased man, but he can’t think about that now. He has more important things to worry about.This auction is about to become a war zone, and every part of him is poised in anticipation.-aka Felix realizes that nothing is as simple as he wants it to be(Please mind the tags)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dorothea Arnault & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Felannie Arrow AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591543
Kudos: 12





	champagne and gunshots

**Author's Note:**

> things i can't write: fight scenes and emotions  
> things in this fic: fight scenes and emotions

If Felix thought that henleys were bothersome, he forgot how constricting black-tie suits were. 

If only to keep his twitchy hands busy, he continually fiddles with his cufflinks under the bright, glittering chandelier that hangs high above the hall. Rich people mingle in extravagant gowns and suits that all look the same, pieces of jewelry glimmering in the fake candlelight. The clinking of champagne glasses is nearly unsettling. In this damn suit his range of motion is limited, and it’s hard to hide the outline of a weapon in a buttoned up jacket. He’d had to settle for one measly dagger.

Even so, the easiest way to get into Lonato’s auction had been to accompany his father, who stands on the other end of the room talking and drinking champagne. It makes him uneasy to think that his father is interested in Lonato’s estate, given the questionable nature of the deceased man, but he can’t think about that now. He has more important things to worry about.

This auction is about to become a war zone, and every part of him is poised in anticipation. It’s somewhat comforting to see the police milling around, especially given their previous reluctance to listen to anything the vigilante has to say, but it does nothing to ease his nerves. They don’t know what’s going on, and at the end of the day, he can only rely on himself to finish what he started.

But it’d been his only option—Felix can’t cover the entire building, not with three separate and equally viable vantage points that the shooter can choose from. He still doesn’t know  _ who _ the shooter is or what their motive is, only that they intend to shoot down prospective buyers of Lonato’s estate, and whoever got in their way. Not even looking into the man’s past had proved anything truly fruitful, only some strange circumstances around the death of his son that hadn’t led anywhere. 

“You look like you’re waiting for someone to jump out and stab you.”

Felix nearly brandishes the dagger hidden inside his suit jacket out of pure reflex, but it’s just Sylvain, bothering him again. 

Shit. It’s Sylvain. Which means…

“That’s just his face at these things, Sylvie. You know how he gets.”

Dorothea’s here too. Great, another thing he needs to worry about. 

Sylvain looks at him with that stupid smile on his face, somehow managing to be both genuine and impossibly fake at the same time with a glass of champagne in his hand. The gold cufflinks with his family symbol, the ones he hates, adorn his white sleeves, barely peeking out past the rich navy of his suit.

Dorothea has her hand in the crook of his elbow, teardrop earrings hanging delicately from her ears in front of her pulled back hair. She looks like she belongs there more than the two who actually grew up at these events.

“What are you two doing here?” Felix asks slowly, reigning in the flaring concern within him. Their presence is too distracting. He needs to be focused, and he can’t do that if he’s wondering if his best friends will make it out alive. At least Ingrid, who’s standing vigil a couple paces away, can take care of herself. 

“Ah, Dad’s looking at buying, but he’s busy being… somewhere else, so I’m here instead with the checkbook,” Sylvain shrugs, causing the bracelet on Dorothea’s wrist to reflect in the light with the small movement, “and you know that I love any excuse to keep a pretty girl with me.” 

Dorothea leans up and flicks him in the temple, “I  _ will _ ditch you for von Aegir over there. He’s been trying to get me to go out with him for years, and the only reason I haven’t said yes yet is because I’ve been in law school.”

Felix snorts under his breath. He’d always found Ferdinand to be a particular nuisance, and he wasn’t ready to test if five years had been a good or bad thing for the suddenly long-haired man. 

Sylvain crinkles his brow, “Dude’s a little too aware of his own wealth.” He turns his attention back to Felix, who’s  _ almost _ ready to admit that he misses these two. “Better question, why are you here, Fe? Didn’t think I’d ever catch you dead at one of these, and your dad’s been cutting you slack since you magically reappeared.” 

He twists his lips into a smile, or at least something resembling one, “I needed to—”

“GET DOWN!”

Screams echo and windows shatter as gunfire begins raining down—Felix immediately notes it’s coming from the west tower. Fuck, he’d let himself get distracted. Ingrid’s tackled his father to the ground. Sylvain drops his champagne glass as he pushes Dorothea away from him and the center of the room. The glass shatters into glittering fragments across the pristine marble tiles. 

A swear leaves his lips as the gunfire continues, echoed by the sound of screams and thuds of bodies as they hit the ground. It doesn’t relent. Felix leans down next to Dorothea and hauls her up off the ground. She stumbles, and he reaches out to steady her. The bullets draw nearer and he spins them, shielding her with his back. Sylvain stares at them, collar askew and fright in his eyes. Felix can’t stand it, “Are you okay? Either of you hurt?”

Ingrid’s at his side, “Felix, we have to go.” Her eyes light up with alarm at the sight of Sylvain and Dorothea before filling with steely resolve again. “Why am I always saving you two? We need to  _ go _ .”

Felix shakes his head and pushes Dorothea towards Ingrid. She’s barefoot, since her stilettos are still lying on the floor. Shit, he doesn’t have time for this. He needs to get to the west tower before the shooter takes off, “Keep her off her feet, there’s too much glass on the ground. I’m going to help the others.”

Sylvain grabs onto his forearm as he turns to leave, fingers curled in a death grip, “Are you fucking insane?” He screams over the gunshots and commotion, yanking Felix back towards him. Felix allows it, indulging the wild panic in his eyes.

“ _ Go _ , Sylvain!” 

Felix rips his arm from the redhead’s grasp and sprints, ignoring Ingrid’s indignant shout and Dorothea’s call of his name as he unbuttons his suit jacket and runs straight into the line of fire to the opposite end of the room. He feels gunshots shatter the flooring behind his steps as he slams open the door to the west stairwell and begins scaling the concrete stairs.

The duffle bag with his getup is pulled from the garbage can he’d hidden it in earlier. His footsteps echo as he flies up the stairwell, ditching the jacket and tie and tugging on the familiar coat and leather gloves. He already feels more like himself with the two swords at his side and the bow in his hands. This is what he was meant to do. 

He slams open the door to the floor the shooter is on and immediately ducks out of the doorway, anticipating the gunfire that rains upon the entrance. It ends and he moves in, drawing the bow in his hands and holding the fletching steady against his cheekbone. 

The area is dark and obviously under construction. Incomplete scaffolding inhibits his sight lines and leaves shadows in the dim light that make it hard to see movement. A figure appears to his right and he drops the bow in a second, barely hears it clatter to the ground as he draws his sword instead.

It’s an ugly fight—as if whoever is under that mask predicts his every move, knows the way he will counter despite lacking a close range weapon themselves. He strikes and they parry. He lunges and they dodge. The style of the Sothis League is supposed to be secret. Felix can’t fathom how someone opposing him knows it. 

“Who are you?” He shouts, dodging underneath a punch and launching his foot into their abdomen. They don’t respond.

His blood buzzes with adrenaline. The world narrows down and his vision tunnels. Gunfire sounds again. His blade meets flesh. They fall to the ground.

There’s a thud behind him. Felix drops the body and turns around, sword at the ready. 

It’s Ingrid. She makes a choking sound from where she kneels on the ground, hand clutched over her right collarbone. 

His eyes widen and he sheathes his sword, sprinting over to her. He presses a gloved hand over hers, the deep red of blood leaking between their fingers, “Ingrid, Ingrid, look at me.”

She moans in pain and stares up at him, brow furrowed in confusion, “Fe..lix…?”

He doesn’t bother answering, merely sweeps her into his arms and begins running, leaving behind the corpse and his only lead. 

-

The rhythmic clanging of metal beckons her awake. 

It’s as though Ingrid’s trudging through mud, groggy and slow. There’s a low hum of a computer, she thinks, and the air she breathes in is cold and musty. She’s lying on something hard. 

Blue eyes blink open and slowly focus. A basement comes into focus, and the sight of a figure jumping and raising a metal bar up metal rungs—that clanging she was hearing—still blurs further away. Her gun is missing from her side, she notes, and her shoulder aches intensely under the tightly done bandages that wrap around and over her chest. 

The person in the distance pauses in their exercise and drops down, landing nimbly and silently on their feet. They turn around and—

It’s Glenn.

But her vision clears a bit more and Glenn becomes Felix. Something in her chest aches as he walks towards her with a small frown, “How are you feeling?” 

Ingrid groans and pushes herself to sit up, hand reaching out behind to support her weight, “Where are we?” She murmurs, turning her head slowly side to side.

The basement seems to be a base of sorts—there’s a computer to the left, with her gun set beside the keyboard, and a staircase directly in front of her. She turns to her right and—

A bow. A rack of swords. Black arrows that she’s seen all over the news. 

Her heart stops. No fucking way.

Her head whips to face Felix, who stands a safe distance away with an utterly stoic face. His arms are crossed over his black t-shirt and he merely… stares at her. Waiting. Ingrid stares back. A lot more things start to make sense, and yet nothing makes any sense at all. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ have you done.” 

-

It’s barely daybreak when he finally arrives home. 

The double doors to the front entrance creaks as Felix shoves it open, orange light filtering through to shine on the wooden floorboards of the ridiculous manor. The flowers on the foyer table are half dead and the family photo of four is covered in dust. He kicks his dress shoes off and watches them roll underneath that table. 

Exhaustion has seeped into his bones, and nothing sounds better than the bed waiting for him upstairs. The sleeves of his white dress shirt have long been rolled up to his elbows along with the undone top three buttons. Everything else can wait until morning—including his father, who he presumes is at the office still trying to buy Lonato’s estate. Idiot.

His feet carry him towards the staircase—his eyes catch figures in the dining room. At this point, he’s almost ready to let another would-be assailant kill him. At least he’d get some rest that way. 

Except Felix knows those figures anywhere, recognizes the shock of red hair and the slopes of their shoulders. Dorothea sits curled up at the head of the table, facing the doorway he’s standing in. Sylvain paces back and forth in front of her. She lifts her eyes and stands, as if seeing an apparition rather than him, “Felix?”

“What are you two—” 

The brunette runs and clutches him tightly, burying her head in the crook of his neck. He rests his cheek on the crown of her head and awkwardly combs his fingers through her hair. Physical affection still feels foreign, and every cell in his body rebels. But he’d be an idiot not to know the consequences of his actions. 

Sylvain catches up and grips Felix’s shoulder—hard, “Don’t pull that shit ever again, Felix.” When he doesn’t look up, Sylvain moves his hand to grip his jaw, fingers curling around the back of his neck, “Felix.” 

The lie slips easily off his tongue.

“I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> also catch me lurking on both the felannie and sylvix servers cause i live in multi-shipping hell


End file.
